


Winning the Wolf

by lj_todd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Courtship, M/M, Mating, Mating Bond, Omega!Jon, courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 22:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17517176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lj_todd/pseuds/lj_todd
Summary: Jon is an Omega. He understands what that means. He also understands that it is his choice who he takes as his Alpha and it will most certainly not be the first one who comes sniffing.





	1. Gregor

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge/Request from @mischief11things over on Tumblr :3

When the King's party had reached Winterfell, Jon had not expected to be the focus of anyone's attention, save perhaps Lady Catelyn ensuring he kept out of the way. He did not expect much attention to be directed at him regardless. He was, after all, just the bastard. Even his dynamic was nothing special. Male Omegas were, for the most part, fairly common. At least in the North. He could not say for certain if that were the case in the South.

So, certain he would go unnoticed and be able to return to his typical day of training and wandering the woods with his direwolf pup, Jon stood at the back of the group, watching the arrival of the King, whom Jon found was too fat and far less grand than he had expected.

He had certainly not expected to be noticed by any of the royal party.

But especially not by the man who had accompanied them.

Ser Gregor Clegane, the man known as the Mountain, had, he would later learn from Lord Tyrion Lannister of all people, accompanied the royals at the request of the Queen.

Gregor was everything the whispers and rumours said and more. Larger than any man Jon had ever before seen, larger even than Lord Jon Umber, and stood stark and emotionless as his moniker. Even from a distance Jon had been able to smell the waft of Alpha from the man and had decided, almost immediately, to keep distance between himself and the large man. He had no desire to risk making Gregor, who was rumoured to have a foul temper, angry or insulted.

Unfortunately, Gregor had decided on a very different course of action.

Jon quickly found that, nearly everywhere he went, the large Alpha was there.

In the training yard Gregor would spar with men who had no hopes of winning against him while Jon trained with Jory or another of the men of Winterfell or he would offer Jon gruff corrections on his stance or strikes. In the kennels he commented on Ghost and how Jon ought to be teaching the direwolf certain commands.

At first, Jon dismissed it. Gregor was probably, like most men, curious about the bastard son of the noble and honourable Ned Stark. But then, after a chat with Maya, a fellow Omega who worked the kitchens, he realized what was truly going on. Or rather Maya pointed it out.

"It's the same thing my Ignis did," she said, rolling dough for bread. "Showing off in hopes that the pretty Omega will notice him. Fluffing his feathers and trying to look the cock of the walk is all the big man's doing. They're all the same like that. Be they Alpha, Beta or Omega."

After that, Jon tried to figure out a way, polite and proper, to discourage Gregor or to show he was not interested. But, unfamiliar as he was with courtship, he had no idea how one was supposed to properly express rejection without also offering insult and, sadly, going to his Lord father or even Lady Catelyn was out of the question. His father would worry endlessly and Lady Catelyn, hardly fond of him to begin with, would blame him somehow for inviting the unwanted attention.

Days passed and during an evening feast everything came to a head.

Jon was seated at a low table near the back of the great hall, with Jory and some of the other men, laughing and eating, glad to not be banished yet again to the yard or kitchens, seemingly forgotten for once by Lady Catelyn. He had just laughed at something Jory said when a shadow, large and unmistakeable, fell over the table.

The men all fell quiet, a few twitching, and heads turning towards the new comer, watching warily and, beside him, Jon felt Jory tense.

Looking up at the large Alpha, Jon had never felt smaller but he held Gregor's gaze. He would not be intimidated. Not here. Not in Winterfell. He may have been a bastard but he was a bastard with the love of his father, the love of his siblings, the love of the people of Winterfell, and he would _not_ be intimidated. Not even by the likes of Ser Gregor Clegane.

He had just opened his mouth to speak when Gregor laid an impressive looking cloak on the table before him.

The fabric, heavy and fine looking wool, was dyed black but was accented at the hem with silver-white thread in the form of running wolves and the collar was trimmed with speckled white and grey fur.

It was, as he'd thought upon first seeing it, impressive.

A fine gift.

A courting gift.

And Jon felt his fingers tremble slightly as he looked up at Gregor again.

"Ser Gregor," he started, trying to find the right words, the proper words, to refuse the Alpha's gift, to refuse his request for a courtship. But he hesitated a moment, uncertain, unknowing how to even begin.

Gregor, however, seemed to have no problem finding his words.

"I understand this is unusual," Gregor said, voice deep and rumbling but, somehow, it seemed as though he was trying to be gentle, to be kind. "But...from what little time I have spent with you...I...I do believe I could give you a good life. We...We might be happy together, you and I."

Jon sat there, still as stone, silent, sensing the entire hall was no holding its breath, feeling the eyes on him, waiting for him to make his decision.

With a slow, deep breath, Jon stood, lifting the cloak from the table.

He saw, for the briefest moment, Gregor's eyes fill with hope and he hated himself for what he had to do.

He handed the cloak back, ignoring the murmurs and the whispers and the looks, choosing instead to focus on Gregor, on watching the understanding dawn in the large Alpha's eyes. He fought back the tremor of fear, the frightened, childish voice in his mind screaming at him not to be stupid, to accept the offer of courtship and then let his father figure out how best to handle the situation, how to refuse Gregor. But he couldn't do that.

Honour said that, as Gregor had presented the gift to him, not to his father, his duty was to respond in kind.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, gently, not wanting to anger the Alpha or risk causing any greater of a scene then had already been brought about. "But...But I am not but a bastard. And as such I...I am an ill choice for your mate."

"You..." Gregor seemed suddenly at a loss. Clearly confused at the refusal but he was not rising to anger over it either so, Jon thought, perhaps that was a good sign.

"You deserve a better Omega," Jon explained, still gently, praying to the Old Gods that Gregor would understand, would not press the matter further once this was finished. "Someone...Someone not tainted by a mistake of birth. You deserve someone worthy of you." He managed a weak smile. "And while I'm...I'm touched you felt that I might be that someone...I...I'm sorry to say it's not I, Ser."

Gregor said nothing for so long that Jon was beginning to feel the fear crawling back into his veins but then the large Alpha gave a slow nod and, much to Jon's surprise, handed him back the cloak.

"It was always to be yours," Gregor rumbled faintly, reaching out to brush a dark curl behind Jon's ear. "Whether you accepted my offer or not."

Jon gave a slow, understanding nod and remained standing even as Gregor turned to walk away.

The large Alpha paused suddenly, turning back slightly to look at Jon, giving the faintest of smiles.

"You are worthy of any man who comes seeking you," Gregor said plainly, not caring that his words caused more whispers and murmurs to spread through the hall. "It is we who are not worthy of you."

Jon blinked and, before he could think of how to respond, Greogr continued on his way, disappearing from the hall as easily as he had come.

Slowly, Jon returned to his seat, ignoring the comments from the men around him, his gaze swinging towards the high table where, he was not surprised, his father sat, watching him. He couldn't say why but Ned actually looked relieved, looked happy even. It was strange, and Jon couldn't begin to understand why his refusal of a potential Alpha, even one with the reputation of Gregor Clegane, would bring happiness to his father. 

One would think his father would be pleased to see him become something other than _Ned Stark's bastard_. Perhaps it was just that Ned wanted to see him take a Northern Alpha as his mate or perhaps it was because Ned, like most of the men in the hall, did not trust Gregor. Perhaps Ned worried that, had Jon agreed to the courtship, to being mated, that Jon would become just another victim of the Mountain.

Jon was pulled from his thoughts by Jory, who nudged him and asked what he intended to do with his new fancy cloak.


	2. Oberyn

It was not often that Southerners, especially those from Dorne, visited the North.

So, when Prince Oberyn Martell of House Martell arrived at the gates of Winterfell without so much as a forewarning, the servants, guards, and even Lord and Lady Stark, were surprised and in something of a frenzy. The servants, as discreetly as possible, rushed to ready the guest chamber while Ned and Catelyn did their best to properly greet the Dornish prince.

Jon, due to the suddenness of the visit, was not ordered off or put to the fringes as he normally was when a noble visitor graced Winterfell with their presence. He was, more or less, ignored during the commotion and chose to withdraw to the godswood to keep out of the way.

He spent most of his day wandering the familiar paths, weaving in and out of the trees, Ghost following like a white shadow.

There was a skiff of fresh summer snow, the whiteness painting the landscape in an almost ethereal softness, and enough of a chill in the air that let him see his breath with every exhale.

The quiet peacefulness of the wood was welcomed after the chaos that had been Prince Oberyn’s arrival.

By the time he circled back around the paths, coming to stand before the great weirwood tree, it was almost easy to forget that Winterfell was currently in disarray and everyone was scrambling to, in Theon’s words, right the ship. Standing there, before the massive tree with its bone white branches stretching out above him, blood red leaves waving gently in the breeze, it was so easy to forget everything.

It was there, beneath those branches and leaves that he first met little Elia Sand, one of Prince Oberyn’s daughters.

The girl, about an age with Bran, had wandered away from the Dornish group and found her way to the godswood where, upon seeing Jon and Ghost, had decided she’d much rather be, even though her southern clothing was not quite suitable for the chill in the air. Ghost took to her almost immediately, following her about as he typically did Jon, letting her climb on him and pet him and treat him as though he was hers rather than Jon’s.

Jon watched it all fondly, until he noticed Elia shivering, though she did her best to hide it, and decided it was time for the Dornish girl to return to the warmth of the castle.

She fussed only a bit when he wrapped his own heavy cloak about her, lifting her into his arms, but when he tucked her against his chest she settled, head resting against his shoulder as she began telling him of Dorne and her adventures there with her four elder sisters. He laughed with her and, in exchange, told her stories of growing up in Winterfell.

He imagined it was quite the sight, him entering the great hall, the daughter of Prince Oberyn in his arms, wrapped in his cloak and his direwolf prowling close behind and following Elia when she spotted her father across the hall and squirmed out of Jon’s arms to rush to the man.

He smiled as Oberyn scooped his daughter up, the girl laughing and clinging to her father, and warmth filled him at the sight.

He had no idea at the time but Elia, precious little thing that she was, had, during their brief time together, decided she quite liked him and relayed that to Oberyn who would then take an interest in Jon.

And the Dornish Prince was hardly subtle about it.

After the incident with Gregor Clegane, Jon had learned to watch, to notice the signs of an Alpha showing interest, and it wasn’t exactly difficult to see, to know, that Oberyn was openly flirting with him.

The Prince would stand closer than necessary. Would rest his hand on Jon’s arm or shoulder or the small of his back. Would lean in towards him while talking with him. Would brush a dark curl from Jon’s face when his hair slipped down after his training sessions with Robb and Theon.

It was, Jon knew, highly improper.

And, he also knew, the Alpha’s behaviour was giving his father fits, though Lord Stark did his best to hide it.

Ever since Gregor Clegane, Ned had become a little more protective of his Omega son.

And, to any who chose to pay proper attention, it was clear the Lord of Winterfell was barely keeping it together whenever he saw Oberyn and Jon.

Jon knew he should put a stop to it. Rebuff Oberyn already and be done with it.

And yet, he didn’t.

It was different than it had been with Gregor Clegane.

The man had been but a knight in service to a powerful family. Oberyn was _part_ of a powerful family. The Dornish Alpha was not some knight or lesser lord. He was a Prince. He was used to seducing and winning anyone he set his eyes on. Finding the right way to rebuff him, to refuse what was so clearly being offered, was more difficult. Jon did not want to say the wrong thing and risk an incident that would worsen relations between the North and Dorne. He did not wish for his father to suffer the anger or humiliation that his refusal of the Prince might cause should Oberyn not take the rejection well.

So uncertain, so worried about causing problems, Jon remained quiet, praying daily in the godswood for guidance. Which was where Oberyn found him one evening and, again, the Alpha made his interest clear.

Jon could not say for certain, whether it was because he was just tired of dealing with the unwanted, though flattering, advances, or if it was because he was in the godswood, such a sacred place to him that clearly mattered little to the Dornishman, but he finally found his courage. Or his anger. Perhaps both.

“I’m sorry, Prince Oberyn,” he all but growled, standing from where he had been sitting, Ghost drifting nearer from the shadow of the trees. “Perhaps I should have done this sooner...no, I _am certain_ I should have done this sooner, but I am not some rare bird for you to win or buy.”

He watched as Oberyn’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“While I am flattered,” Jon continued, not missing the figure lingering by the gateway leading back into the castle. “By your continued attempts to win my affections, to win my approval, I am afraid, that I must _refuse_ what you are offering.” He tilted his chin up slightly. “I do not wish to be your lover or your mate.”

Oberyn stared at him for a moment, the Alpha clearly weighing the situation, weighing Jon’s words, his sincerity, before smiling and giving a nod of his head.

“I would have been pleased to have you as my Omega,” the Dornish Prince said, still smiling, reaching out to, once again, brush Jon’s hair back from is face before, to Jon’s surprise, leaning in and brushing a quick kiss to his lips. “But I understand all the same.”

Oberyn stepped back then, putting appropriate distance between them, still smiling.

“You’d have made a splendid Prince, you know,” the Alpha said before walking away, leaving Jon to stand there, still taken by surprise by the kiss, lips tingling slightly.

Blinking, Jon shook his head and glanced at the figure still lingering by the gateway.

His father gave him a gentle look but in his face Jon saw the relief.

No doubt the Lord of Winterfell was glad that his son had shown restraint and not fallen for the infamous Red Viper’s charms. There were already enough whispers and rumours about him, Jon thought as he turned away from his father, looking at the weeping eyes of the weirwood tree, at least there would not be more.


	3. Victarion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably my favorite of all six chapters and I deeply, deeply, wanted to rearrange everything and have it be Victarion that Jon chose but, for the sake of this collection, that was just not meant to be.

Jon was certain, well, almost certain, that the gods were trying to punish him for something.

That or they were trying to tell him that drinking Iron Island mead on a mostly empty stomach was an unwise decision. Even if it had been to prove to Theon that he wasn’t some simpering, weak willed Omega and he could most certainly hold his own against the heir to the Iron Islands.

Either way, he was paying the price for his foolish decision.

His head throbbed and his throat felt as though he had swallowed a bucket of thorns and when he tried to lift his head from the table his neck and back screamed in protest. Clearly a sign he had fallen asleep, or passed out more likely, at the table the night before. Groaning, squeezing his eyes shut once more to block out the blinding light of the morning sun shining through the high windows of the great hall, Jon silently swore he would never drink with Robb and Theon again.

Slowly, carefully, he tipped his head where it rested on his arms and cautiously opened one eye.

He spotted Robb at the other end of the table, looking as poorly as he felt, and, glancing carefully around, searching for Theon, who, suspiciously was missing from the table.

Jon grumbled and tucked his head back into the crook of his arm, not caring that if his father or Lady Stark found him and Robb like this it would not end well. All he knew was that if he moved he would not get far before either face planting into the floor or emptying what little contents his stomach currently contained.

He heard approaching footsteps and prayed it was his father coming to end his misery. It would be a merciful death, he was certain, because his father was honourable and surely wouldn’t allow his son, even his bastard son, to continue to suffer.

When a hand brushed through his hair, a soft, throaty chuckle drifting down to him, Jon slowly turned his head, peering up through a half opened eye, watching as a plate of...something...was set on the table in front of his arms. Above him stood Theon’s uncle, Victarion, who had come to Winterfell to see his nephew and help the young man celebrate his nameday.

“Wha...” Jon croaked, voice hoarse and his head rumbled painfully at the sound of his own voice, resulting in a weak whine as he squeezed his eyes shut once more, trying to fight off the pain.

Victarion rumbled softly, an Alpha’s call, trying to sooth him apparently.

“Pickled eel,” the Ironborn explained, taking the seat next to Jon, ignoring Robb’s croaked words from down the table about it being too loud and bright. “Good for a hangover, pup.”

Jon peeked at the plate and his stomach rolled uncomfortably even as he sniffed delicately at the so-called meal before him.

It did not look, nor smell, appealing and, he was almost certain, would result in him finally throwing up should he try to eat it.

“It tastes better than it looks,” Victarion coaxed, his broad fingers combing gently through Jon’s hair and, for a moment, the Omega recalled the man doing much the same last night. It was a bold move. Especially for an unrelated Alpha. It spoke of things Jon did not wish to think of. Not when his head felt as though he’d been clubbed with a shield. “And it will help you feel better.”

Jon grunted.

“Did Theon eat it?”

Victarion snorted.

“My dear nephew is currently napping beneath the other table in a puddle of mead and the Drowned One only knows what,” the Ironborn Alpha replied, hand slipping from Jon’s hair to rub gently over his back.

Jon, curious enough from the Alpha’s words, lifted his head, for a moment uncaring about his pain and aches, and looked to see that, sure enough, Theon had, at some point, chosen to crawl beneath the table and had either fallen asleep or passed out there.

Despite the pain, and the fuzzy things dancing through his vision, Jon laughed.

Nothing would ever, Jon thought in that moment, be better than the sight.

He would hold this over Theon’s head for ages.

“Now that you’ve enjoyed my nephew’s absurdity,” Victarion mused, smirking, hand combing through Jon’s hair again, the touch surprisingly light and gentle for an Alpha of his reputation. “Eat.” He nudged the plate towards Jon. “I promise it will help.”

Jon doubted it, but, he supposed, if he suddenly was sick he could just turn his head and vomit on the Alpha. He suspected that nothing would quite dissuade the man like that would.

With a low huff of breath, the pounding in his ears, the throbbing behind his eyes growing more unbearable, he reached out for the plate, thankful that the Alpha had also provided a knife and fork for his unconventional breakfast.

The taste made his stomach roll threateningly and his nose wrinkled in distaste, but he forced it down, hoping that Victarion was right and that it would help.

Shoving the plate away after the last bite, Jon barely managed to swallow the piece of eel, shuddering a bit and making a disgusted noise as he looked at Victarion.

“That,” he murmured, wiping his mouth with the edge of his sleeve. “Was revolting.”

Victarion chuckled.

“And yet, it will help.”

Jon huffed and, despite his better judgement, leaned into the Alpha, resting his head against the man’s shoulder, hearing footsteps approaching through the far door of the hall. He closed his eyes for a moment, just a moment, letting himself enjoy, just this once, the attentions of an Alpha. Letting himself enjoy Victarion’s hand in his hair. The gentle brush of fingers against his temple. The obvious way the Alpha was trying to express himself, his desire, without speaking.

It was, Jon had to admit, nice.

Just for that moment.

Drawing a slow breath, Jon opened his eyes and, not surprisingly, saw his father in the far doorway, watching, silent but frowning, clearly not liking what he saw.

Jon turned his head, not wanting to be looked at like that. Like he was disappointing his father. He hated that look.

Tipping his head back, Jon met Victarion’s gaze, blue as the sea reflecting the sky, and something must have shown on his face because the Alpha hummed softly, still running his fingers through Jon’s curls.

“I could make you happy,” Victarion whispered, very much aware of the way Lord Stark was watching them. Watching him.

“I’m sure you could,” Jon replied just as softly. He had no doubt of Victarion’s words. The Alpha had made his interest clear. Had even been polite, if a little forward, about it all. And yet, somehow, it wasn’t enough. “But...But it’s _not_ what _I_ want.”

Victarion said nothing at first, merely turned his head, cheek pressed against Jon’s hair before the Alpha pressed a gentle kiss to his temple.

“Perhaps it is for the best,” the Alpha admitted, though he did sound a touch sad about it. “I’ve never done well with those I’ve wanted as my own.”

Jon nodded and, after a moment, slowly stood, pretending not to see the relief on his father’s face again as he started to turn. He paused. He wasn’t quite certain what was worse. His father’s disappointment or the relief when it was clear Jon hadn’t done something to shame him or the North.

He couldn’t say what possessed him to do it, but, instead of simply walking away as he’d intended, he leaned back down and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to Victarion’s lips, certainly catching the Alpha by surprise.

“I’m sorry.” 

Jon whispered the words, seeing the Alpha’s understanding in those brilliant blue eyes, before he all but fled the hall.


	4. Tommen

The second time King Robert and his family visited Winterfell was, Jon found, just as eventful as the first.

And, like the first time, Jon did his best to go unnoticed.

He was tired of being a source of attention, even more tired of Alphas trying to woo or win him like he was the prize of a tourney. And, this time around, he would quite like to be just part of the background. Ignored and forgotten.

It worked.

Until one of the little lion cubs decided to turn their attention to Jon.

Prince Tommen was, Jon had to admit, kind, friendly and gentle. Surprising traits in an Alpha, even one as young as the Prince. The boy, because anyone young enough to be his sibling was certainly not yet a man no matter what the young Alpha might think, had turned that warm, kind green gaze on him and something, it seemed, had appealed to him.

Jon could not begin to figure out what that something might be, if he could he would have changed it after the incident with Gregor Clegane just to avoid all this nonsense to begin with, but he did know that, more so than any other Alpha who had shown interest, he had to be extremely careful with how he handle the situation. How he handled Tommen especially.

The boy, though not heir to the throne, was still a prince, and deeply beloved by his mother and her brothers, and Jon absolutely did not wish to bring the Queen’s wrath down upon him by upsetting or inadvertently hurting her youngest child.

He did his best, subtly as it might have been, to dissuade Tommen. To gently, carefully, nudge the young Alpha in a more suitable direction. Though once Arya caught on to what he was doing she promptly kicked him in the shins and growled at him to solve his problems without getting her married off to some southern cub.

And, whether it was his young age or wilful ignorance, Tommen hardly seemed to notice Jon’s attempts.

The young Alpha was always sweet towards him. Offering Jon treats that he’d been snuck by the servants or his uncle Tyrion and inviting him to join him for meals or quiet evenings sitting before the fire in the great hall where Tommen would tell him stories he had read or heard from others, mostly from Tyrion, though Jon suspected those stories had been greatly watered down for the young Alpha’s ears.

During those evenings, Ghost would lay by Tommen’s chair, letting the boy pet him and scratch behind his ears and, if Jon had not already know Tommen was a good person, that would have. As Ghost had grown, his trust of people had changed. If the quiet direwolf would not let someone so much as approach him or pet him it was a clear sign to Jon that there was something not right with that person. Ghost’s instincts had yet to steer them wrong.

And Tommen was so sweet, so kind, that it was impossible to imagine the young Alpha being anything else.

Which was only making it harder for Jon to figure out a way to express himself properly.

It wasn’t right, or fair, to let this continue. To let Tommen keep thinking there was something between them that wasn’t.

It was too much like what had happened months before with Victarion Greyjoy.

And at least then Jon had, for a brief moment, genuinely considered what the Ironborn Alpha had been offering.

And yet he still hadn’t managed to figure out the right way to say the words running through his mind.

It was only a few days before the royal family was set to leave Winterfell that everything finally came to a head.

Jon had been in the training yard, sparing with Robb, when he failed to dodge a strike from his brother’s shield. The blow caught him hard across the side of his head, leaving his ears ringing and vision swimming as the ground suddenly rushed up to meet him. He heard Robb apologizing, heard someone, Theon he thought, asking if he was alright and made to answer, blinking against the fuzziness of his vision when a normally quiet and sweet voice snarled.

“You could have seriously hurt him!”

Blinking, Jon slowly sat up, head still ringing, and looked around.

He was surprised to see Tommen standing between him and Robb, the blonde Alpha growling faintly and glaring at Robb like he wanted to knock the bigger Alpha down.

“He’s always trained with…” Robb started, clearly intending to defend himself, his actions, and Jon’s role in them, but Tommen, sweet thing that he was, was having none of it.

“He’s an Omega,” Tommen snapped hotly, eyes flashing and, Jon noticed, on the walkways overlooking the training yard people had begun to gather, watching the goings on. Among them was Lord Stark and King Robert. “Your father should never have permitted this to begin with! What if he were to get hurt? Seriously hurt? He could be crippled or worse! He could be left unable to have children!”

Something in Jon cracked at those words.

_”He could be left unable to have children!”_

As though that was his only use. As though he should be swaddled in blankets and protected like some delicate flower.

He knew the young Prince had not likely meant his words to be insulting, that he was, in his own way, trying to protect Jon. But the anger burning in the Omega’s gut did not abate with that knowledge. If anything it burned stronger. He might have been born an Omega but he was of the North and the North did not accept or tolerate weakness. Not even in its Omegas.

Despite the pain, despite his body just wanting to lay back down, to rest, to let the pain pass, Jon shoved himself to his feet, swaying only slightly as his cold grey gaze fixed on Tommen.

“I do not need protecting,” the Omega ground the words out, watching Tommen turn, seeing the concern in those green eyes but unable to shake the anger the young Alpha’s words had stirred.

“Jon…”

“I’ve been training with a blade and shield since I could walk.” Jon continued, hands clenching tightly at his sides. “I can hunt and fight and do everything any Alpha or Beta can do.”

Tommen blinked and then, slowly, seemed to realize what he had said wrong.”

“Jon…” Tommen shook his head. “Jon, I never…I only meant…”

“I know what you meant, _Alpha_.” Jon’s voice was as cold as his gaze and, though he took no pleasure in the way Tommen squirmed, he suddenly knew the gods had given him a chance to rebuff the young Alpha. “Same as all the others who sought me as a prize.”

“But… But you’re not,” Tommen tried. “I don’t…I don’t see you like that…I know…you’re not a prize, Jon, I only meant…”

“ _I don’t care_.” Jon hissed the words from behind clenched teeth. His anger at Tommen’s words had already begun to ebb away but he played the role of slighted Omega. “Whatever it is you think you meant, _Alpha_ , I don’t care.”

He shook his head and grabbed his sword and shield from the ground where they had fallen.

“I thought you were different,” the Omega said, his rebuffing of Tommen, of his previous advances, made clear. “I was wrong.”

Jon turned his back on Tommen then, moving to rejoin Robb, to keep practicing, his actions speaking as loudly as his words.

He would not be taking Tommen as his Alpha.

Tommen looked near tears, something Jon wanted to kick himself for causing, and, from above, the King could be heard lamenting to Ned about their families not sharing a double wedding after all.

Jon, squaring off against Robb while Tommen slunk away, properly shamed, risked a glance upwards to his father. He recognized the small smile on the man’s face, the glimmer of relief in his pale gaze and, for the first time, he hated it. He had put that look there by breaking the heart of the sweetest boy to ever walk.

It made him sick.

So, to fight back the dark thoughts, Jon threw himself into the fight with his brother.


	5. Ramsay

All his life Jon had never hated being an Omega.

Not once.

But that, he decided during yet another walk through the godswood with perhaps the North’s creepiest Alpha, had been before he had the misfortune of meeting Ramsay Snow.

Ramsay was the bastard son of Lord Roose Bolton and, apparently, had been invited along on a trip to Winterfell by his elder half-brother, Domeric, who, Jon understood, was trying to foster good relations not only between himself and the Starks of Winterfell but for his brother as well. It seemed Domeric had thought if Ramsay met Jon, who was well loved by his trueborn siblings, that it would promote a better relationship between himself and the young Alpha.

Jon had been introduced to Ramsay by his father and Domeric and, almost immediately, had taken a disliking to the other Snow.

Something about Ramsay set him on edge. Something in his scent. In the way he moved. In the way he looked at Jon after realizing he was an Omega.

Like Jon was prey. Game to be chased and caught.

It set Jon on edge, worse than any of the Alphas who had come before Ramsay had, and that, naturally, set Ghost on edge.

The direwolf had not responded well to Ramsay, growling at him and, once, snapping when he reached to touch Jon. It was enough that Lord Stark, worried the massive wolf, now nearly twice as large as any of his littermates, would do far worse than a mere nip, had Ghost confined to the kennels for the rest of the Bolton visit.

Jon was not happy with the decision but held his tongue.

He played the dutiful son and played the role of good host.

He showed Ramsay throughout Winterfell. Accompanied him and their brothers during hunts. He even spared with him a few times, though it was infinitely clear that, while skilled with a bow, the Alpha’s sword needed desperate improvement.

It had not been difficult, given all the time Ramsay insisted on spending with him, that the Alpha was interested. Wanted more from Jon that the simple friendship Domeric had hoped to foster between the pair.

The looks, lecherous and telling, as well as the way Ramsay would touch him, as blatant as Victarion Greyjoy had been but with less kindness, less gentleness, made Jon’s skin crawl and the Omega knew that he’d sooner throw himself from the rampart than ever mate, or even lay, with the Bolton bastard.

There was something about Ramsay that was wrong.

Deeply wrong.

And yet, not wishing to shame his father or his family, he continued to play nice.

Which was how he ended up on yet another walk, alone, with Ramsay.

Ramsay was talking, again, of how soon he was certain his father would petition King Robert to name him Bolton, to claim him as a true son rather than a bastard and that, once it was so, he would need to take a mate. He would need one with a good family if not a good name. He said the last bit while giving Jon another of those lecherous looks and, again, Jon’s skin crawled.

“I’m sure your father will find you the proper mate,” Jon replied calmly, looking away from Ramsay, watching as a raven took flight from Maester Luwin’s tower. “Someone...worthy of you.”

Ramsay’s grin split into a wide smile. No doubt the Alpha thought he looked dashing but Jon found him repugnant.

“I’m quite certain I’ve already found that someone.”

The Alpha reached out, fingers trying to curl about Jon’s wrist but the Omega had wizened to those games and quickly, carefully, sidestepped, taking the bend in the path that led back to the castle, Ramsay following him like a love struck puppy. If the Alpha noticed Jon’s change in mood he ignored it, choosing instead to keep talking, to keep dancing, about what he truly wanted to say.

“Of course it would be better if they shared their father’s name,” Ramsay continued, still smiling as they entered the castle, Jon fighting down the urge to leave the Alpha, to go and find his father and demand he be allowed to go to White Harbour or somewhere else until the Bolton party finally left. “But I’m sure a little suggestion would prompt the King into legitimizing them should it be necessary. It’s said he very much loves their father, after all.”

Jon swore his eye twitched as they entered the great hall, which bustled with life, servants tending to their chores and the visiting Bolton men, at the high table Lord Stark was speaking with Domeric, smiling kindly at the young Beta who seemed to be telling some story or the like.

Drawing a deep breath, hands clenched tightly at his sides, Jon searched for Robb, spotting him and Theon at one of the tables by the great fireplace, laughing together and he moved towards them, no longer wishing to be alone with Ramsay.

But of course Ramsay followed, still speaking of the Omega he had his eye on as though Jon was stupid enough not to realize whom he was speaking of and, as they reached the table, Jon was seriously considering going and staying in the kennels with Ghost until the Alpha was gone from Winterfell.

Once at the table Ramsay was drawn into conversation with Robb and Theon, the pair having overheard some of the Alpha’s conversation with Jon and, judging from the way Robb was looking at Ramsay, it was clear the heir to Winterfell was not impressed.

Jon had just started to reach for a piece of cake from Robb’s plate, an old childhood habit, when he felt Ramsay, who had not shown any outward sign of his attention and was still speaking calmly, easily, with Robb, slide a hand over his thigh, coming to rest against his groin in a very obvious display. He froze, surprised and shocked at the boldness, even Oberyn Martell had not been so bold, and it was as though all the world froze with him.

And then, like a rush of winter wind across an open field, reality came crashing back in and Jon, normally quiet, growled.

It was not a pleasant sound and loud enough that the entire hall heard and fell silent.

All eyes turning to Jon and Ramsay.

Standing, shoving Ramsay’s hand away, making certain all could see what was happening, or at least would have an idea, Jon towered over the still seated Alpha.

Snarling, Jon fought down the urge to drive his fist into Ramsay’s face.

The Alpha looked confused, as though he couldn’t truly understand why Jon was acting this way.

“If you _ever_ ,” Jon growled, seeing his father rising from the high table, concern written all over his face. “Put your hands on me again, I will take great fucking pleasure in feeding you to my fucking direwolf.”

Jon heard the murmurs, the shocked whispers, at his outburst, at his crassness, but he also saw how none of the Bolton men moved to Ramsay’s defence, not one of them spoke on his behalf. A few even were looking at him with disgust, muttering to themselves even as Domeric began to make his way from the high table.

“Jon...” Ramsay started but Jon growled again to silence him.

“I am not a toy to be bought with empty promises,” the Omega snapped, surprising himself at how fierce, how wild, he sounded. “Nor am I some whore to spread my legs to any Alpha who comes sniffing.” Jon sneered down at him. “And believe me, _Snow_ , there have been plenty. All much better and more important than you will ever hope to be.”

Jon watched as Ramsay’s face went from pale to red, anger written all over his features, his nostrils flaring and a fine tremor wracking his thin frame. The Alpha looked ready to explode and Jon, sensing the best time to make his retreat, took a step back, still growling faintly. The only warning he would likely give. If the foolish, disgusting Alpha thought to follow, to do something stupid, Jon would fight tooth and nail and make certain Ramsay Snow returned to the Dreadfort with very permanent reminders of his visit to Winterfell.

Thankfully, Domeric, and Lord Stark, were suddenly there, Domeric grabbing Ramsay’s arm and yanking him up, away, from Jon, putting himself physically between the two Snows, telling Ramsay how disappointing it was that he had chosen to behave so poorly and trying to apologize to Jon and Lord Stark in equal measure.

While his father handled the situation well, ever a diplomatic lord, Jon saw the flicker of relief in the man’s eyes.

It was the only time Jon was glad to see it.

It meant that his father had not liked the idea of Ramsay Snow courting him, trying to win him, any more than he did but would have likely accepted it if it had been what Jon wanted.

But now, having publicly and loudly and embarrassingly, dismissed the Alpha, it was clear to all that Jon had no interest, no desire, for Ramsay.

Jon watched as Domeric did his best to herd Ramsay from the hall, still offering apologies as he went. The Omega did not care. All he cared about was having gotten Ramsay away from him. Of keeping him away. If anyone noticed or had any thoughts about him spending the last few days of the visit in the kennels, as close to Ghost as he could, they wisely said nothing.

It was the first time, in a very long time, that Jon considered joining the Night’s Watch.

A thought easily dismissed when, after the Boltons left, Robb and Arya coaxed him into sneaking out for a moonlit ride through the forest, their wolves racing in the shadows around their horses, howling and singing.


	6. Bronn

Jon rode through the gates of Winterfell for the first time in two years and a part of him wanted to swing his horse around and ride away again.

He had spent the last year in the company of Tyrion Lannister, traveling with the lord throughout both Westeros and Essos. It had been quite the adventure and he had learned so much about the world and, he had been most surprised, about himself.

Tugging his reins, slowing his horse to a stop, he glanced over his shoulder, watching as his companion, Bronn, a rascal of a sellsword he had met through Tyrion, rode through the gate. Bronn, dressed in plain, dark travel clothes, not much differently then he had dressed during their travels with Tyrion, was looking around, clearly taking in the sight that was Winterfell. When they had crested the hill, the mighty castle coming into view at long last the man had whistle low and commented, naturally, about what a fancy frozen shit hole Jon had grown up in.

Climbing from his horse, Jon was not surprised when, within the blink of an eye, Bronn was at his side.

“Fancier than I was expecting,” Bronn admitted, still looking around, pretending not to notice how the men of Winterfell were watching him. “Bigger too.” He looked at Jon, seemingly able to sense the younger man’s nerves. “We can always get right back on the horses and ride the fuck out of here if you want. Meet the shrimp of a lion back in the Riverlands a little earlier than planned.”

Jon was tempted, oh was he tempted, but he shook his head.

“The guards would have seen us from the hill,” he pointed out as servants led their horses away, two others taking their bags into the castle. “And I did write my father and say I would be visiting for a while.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to actually do it, mind,” Bronn said, following Jon’s lead when the young man walked towards the doors that led into the castle. “Just saying, you were so worked up this morning about being back that you almost puked all over my good boots, don’t think your fancy pants father will appreciate it if you puke all over his.”

Jon chuckled and bumped his shoulder against Bronn’s, grinning, and the Alpha grinned back. That cheeky grin that, over the last two years, Jon had come to love.

“It’s just been a long time,” Jon said softly, turning down the hall towards the great hall. “And I did not exactly leave on the best of terms with my father.”

And wasn’t that just the gut wrenching truth.

Lord Stark had not wanted him to leave, had tried to stop him in fact, claiming Jon was still too young, that he wasn’t ready, that the world would still be out there for him to explore in a few years when he was a little older. His father’s actions and words had led to the first real argument Jon had ever truly had with his father. A drug out verbal sparing match that had ended when Jon, unceremoniously, flung in his father’s face that maybe the man was just worried Jon would come crawling back with a belly full of a baby and no Alpha to lay claim to it. That Jon would further tarnish the name of House Stark and bring further shame to the oh-so-honourable Ned Stark. He had then, regrettably, snuck out in the middle of the night to meet Tyrion at the whorehouse in Winter Town, leaving not but a note behind.

Two years had come and gone since that night and Jon felt as though ravens had taken flight in his belly and were threatening to burst free at any moment. Bronn, seeming to sense his mood, bumped his shoulder as they entered the great hall.

“You’re a grown man, Snowy, it’s time to grow some balls or stop whining like a puppy.”

Again Jon laughed, some of the tension easing from his body, and he smiled at Bronn, who glanced around the hall, whistling softly.

“Flaming tits and I thought the Eyrie was impressive.”

“We don’t have a Moon Door,” Jon pointed out as they walked towards the great hearth. “But we do have heated pools beneath the castle. Nice place for a bath on cold days.”

Bronn gave him a near lecherous look and Jon laughed and shook his head.

“It is really is quite nice,” Bronn said, moving to warm his hands over the crackling fire. “Feels almost like a home rather than just another castle.”

Jon smiled fondly though there was a touch of sadness to his eyes.

“Never really felt like home,” he said, standing beside Bronn, watching the flames dance. “I was always an outsider here no matter that my father claimed me but, I suppose, it’s the closest thing I have.”

Bronn hummed lightly, before catching hold of Jon, spinning him about and pinning him to the wall next to the hearth, pressing in close so there was barely any space between them.

“Man doesn’t need a fancy castle to have a home,” he reminded not for the first time, smiling gently as the Omega tipped his head back against the wall, watching him with those pretty grey eyes. “I haven’t had one in a long time. Not until you, Snowy. Like to think you feel the same.”

Jon smiled, relaxing as he ran his hands over Bronn’s arms, remembering how easy it had been to go from simply liking the brash Alpha to genuinely loving him.

“Of course I do, darling.” Jon leaned up a bit, rubbing the tip of his nose against Bronn’s, making the Alpha go a little cross eyed as he tried to follow the movements. “Wouldn’t be doing this if you were right here with me.”

Bronn’s smile widened as he leaned in, capturing Jon’s lips in a wet, filthy kiss. The sort they usually kept strictly for the privacy of their bedchamber but Jon didn’t protest, more than happy to lose himself for a moment in the shared intimacy with the Alpha.

When Bronn deepened the kiss, tongue dipping passed his lips, light and teasing, Jon groaned and clutched at the Alpha’s shoulders, hips bucking reflexively, suddenly he ached for more. He had just started to move a hand, to reach for Bronn’s belt, lost in the pleasure, forgetting for a moment where they were, only to jerk back in surprise when a familiar voice called out in surprise.

_“JON?!”_

Heading snapping to the side, tearing his mouth from Bronn’s, Jon gasped, panting softly, and found his father and Lady Catelyn standing a short way away, watching them.

He let out a soft sound and tried, though with little effort, to disentangle himself from Bronn, who followed his gaze with an expression of annoyance, no doubt from being interrupted but, after a moment, the Alpha sighed and slowly stepped back, putting only a little distance between himself and Jon.

“Not the best way to be meeting my in-laws I reckon,” the Alpha said with a wiry grin and Jon saw the way Lady Catelyn twitched, her gaze dancing from Jon to Bronn and back again, while Ned merely looked confused.

“Lord and Lady Stark,” Jon said softly, politely, not missing the way Bronn looked at him, the way the Alpha’s hand twitched against his back where it had been resting since they had parted. “I apologize for our behaviour.” He swallowed nervously. “I…Well…This is Bronn.”

Bronn nodded his head.

“A pleasure to meet you m’lord and m’lady.”

Ned stepped forward slowly, taking in the sight of Jon and Bronn, no longer confused but still frowning all the same.

“Jon,” the Lord of Winterfell started but then stopped, his gaze dropping to Jon’s neck, seeing a bite mark, a claiming mark, peeking out from just beneath the collar of his son’s shirt. Jon, realizing where his father was looking, immediately reached up, tugging his collar a little higher even as he drew a deep breath.

“Bronn’s my Alpha,” Jon explained quietly, immediately looking to said Alpha, who gave him a gentle smile and Jon smiled back before looking again at his father. “We…We bonded almost a year ago.”

Ned blinked.

“A year?” He looked at Bronn. “Which House…”

Bronn quickly shook his head.

“Don’t belong to one, nor am I exactly in service to one,” the Alpha said, grinning slightly. “Just a sellsword, mate.” He looked at Jon again. “Snowy here made me the luckiest son of a bitch alive picking me to be his Alpha.” He looked back to Ned. “Probably should have been a bit more proper about all of this and asked permission or whatever nonsense you noble folk do but, really, Jon’s happiness and love was call I cared about then and now.”

“Jon,” Ned said softly just as Lady Catelyn spoke up.

“Do you have any idea the shame you’ve brought upon your father and this family,” the Lady of Winterfell snarled, uncaring of the look her husband shot her. “First by running off with a Lannister and now this? _Do you?!_ ”

Jon flinched and Bronn bristled even as Ned tried to calm his wife.

“Who, by the Maiden flaming cunt,” Bronn snarled, voice dropping a bit, becoming darker, making Lady Catelyn’s gaze jump to him immediately, Ned tensing in response. “Do you think you’re talking about?” 

The Alpha was tensing, readying for a fight, but Jon quickly grabbed his arm, grip tight, trying to calm his Alpha, his mate, by purring softly. But Bronn was not put off.

“No fucking wonder he didn’t want to come back to this place if this was the welcome he knew would be fucking waiting for him.” Bronn looked Lady Catelyn up and down. “He’s not some monster, but given how you’re looking at him he might as well be, am I right, _m’lady_?”

Lady Catelyn blinked, clearly taken back by Bronn’s brashness, and Jon, though still trying to calm his Alpha, almost preened at how the man stood up for him. And, it seemed, Bronn wasn’t quite finished.

“My mate is a good man, better than I ever fucking deserved. He’s done more good, in Westeros _and_ in Essos in two years than I suspect you’ve ever done in your life and _you dare_ treat him like the shit you scraped off your shoe.”

Bronn shook his head, catching Jon’s hand, lacing his fingers with the Omega’s.

“You were right, Snowy,” the Alpha said, looking at his mate again, eyes still blazing with his fury. “We shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. We can go and…”

_“No.”_

Ned’s voice was quiet yet somehow still carried and, in a heartbeat, all eyes were on him.

“No,” Ned said again, looking at Jon. “No. Jon, you…I don’t care that you took a mate.” He shook his head. “I’m just…I am _glad_ you found someone to share your life with. Someone who clearly values you a great deal, though his manners could use some work.”

Bronn puffed up slightly but remained, thankfully, quiet as Ned stepped to Jon, reaching out to clasp the Omega’s shoulder.

“I was so happy to receive your letter,” Ned pressed on. “Knowing you were safe, that you were coming back, even if you were not planning on staying. To see you again, to hear your voice, to see the man you’ve become, there are not words for the joy it brings me.” Ned smiled and cupped Jon’s cheek. “And your brothers and sisters are so excited to see you again. Rickon’s gotten so big since you’ve been gone and I know Arya will not be satisfied that you’re still alive until she’s seen you for herself.”

Jon blinked.

“My Lord,” he started but suddenly a loud squeal, Arya’s voice, sounded from the doorway.

“Jon!”

The next thing he knew Arya was there, tall and thinner than the last time he had seen her, the sword he had had made for her hanging from her belt, and she was jumping up into his arms, clinging to him, rumbling happily and he locked his arms around her, hugging her tightly and nuzzling at her hair. He felt tears, happy tears, prickle his eyes as he held his sister, so glad to see her again, and he glanced to Bronn, who shot Lady Catelyn another look as Ned tugged his wife away, but when his Alpha looked at him, his expression softened. No doubt do to how happy he must have looked with his sister.

It wasn’t long before the rest of his siblings, and Theon, were there, hugging him and welcoming him. Rickon was the first to welcome Bronn, giving him a hug and, surprisingly, a cookie he’d snuck from the kitchen, which made Bronn grin and promise to show the boy how to steal a whole box of cookies, which caught Bran and Arya’s attention as well and Jon laughed as Robb tried to be the dutiful elder brother and corral the younger Stark children.

Jon, standing with Theon, who was asking of his time in Essos once Bronn mentioned their time there, noticed that, since Lady Catelyn had stormed off, his father was by the high table, a cup of ale in his hand, looking a little paler than usual, watching Jon and Bronn in equal measures.

He suspected this was hardly the homecoming the man had expected upon receiving his letter but, as Arya showed him the trick she had recently learned using her sword, Needle she called it, Bronn correcting her footwork a bit, at least he had come home, even if it wasn’t to stay.

Winterfell might have been his home once but, as Bronn said, sometimes home wasn’t just a place.


End file.
